


In Your Room

by Stateless



Series: Songs of Faith and Devotion [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Ethan Gold/Justin Taylor (past relationship), M/M, POV Alternating, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, gapfiller of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stateless/pseuds/Stateless
Summary: A month. It is all it takes before Justin and Brian make their way back to where they belong.Set between 307 and 308, and delves into the events that split our boys up before bringing them back together.There have been many takes on that period of time in the show. Two of my personal favorites are Severina’s  The Only Way Is Up and AHS’s Creative (Go read them and send them love!)As I am not as concise as they are, and I needed to make sense of the damned month-gap the creators left us with, here is my (long-winded, hopefully okay) view of the events, in two parts to explore both their points of view.***Thank you so very much for AHS’s insightful beta. You rock, dear!All errors are obviously mine.





	In Your Room

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 – In your room  
> How do you realize you’ve made the biggest, stupidest mistake of your life?
> 
> ***
> 
> Author’s note:  
> First part delves into Justin’s thoughts. The dream sequence was inspired by Depeche mode’s In Your Room, in their 1993 album Songs of Faith and Devotion (link and lyrics in the end notes). I do recommend you listen to it to fully get the mood of Justin’s dreams.  
> I was somehow frustrated at the lack of canon explanation for Justin’s brutal decision to pursue Brian again. Them being so obviously endgame didn’t quite satisfy me if I didn’t get the rationale behind it. Thus, I had to connect the dots of the entire arc to understand Justin’s thought process, why he wouldn’t have talked about it with Daphne, and why he appeared so calm and accepting of Brian’s tricking after their reconciliation.  
> Hope I managed to make sense of it all.

**Justin POV**

 

When Justin knocked on Daphne’s door after he left Ethan, he knew instinctively she wouldn’t judge him for yet another failure in his love life. He hadn’t even thought before running to her to nurse his bruised heart and pride. She would understand, especially after he’d aired his suspicions to her. Plus, she’d been there too with one of her boyfriends.

 

He had had a thought it wouldn’t go down the same way with his mother or Debbie. He had no doubt they would both have been delighted to take him back and smother him with their motherly affection, but he didn’t feel like being coddled. He was an adult, for fuck’s sake. He just wanted to mope alone, and who better to do that with than his best friend? She would know how to act around him, not to push when he didn’t want to talk, and to just listen if he wanted to vent. She wouldn’t be reasonable or rational, she would firmly stand in his corner, indulge him and concur with everything he said, as a best friend does. And God did he need that.

 

What he hadn’t foreseen, though, was the relief and unbridled joy on her face when she opened the door and he asked her if he could crash on her futon.

 

“Sure, Jus, but didn’t you have a nice romantic picnic planned with Ethan?”

 

“There’s no Ethan anymore.”

 

“YES!! You finally got tired of him! Come on in and tell me everything!”

 

He was taken aback by the venom in her voice and her excitement at the news. He had felt her reservation with Ethan, but it was quite obvious how much exactly she had toned it down for his sake.

He felt weirdly grateful for that, and reassured that he would have her unconditional support. He told her everything. The fan, the fucking roses, Ethan’s pathetic excuses and lame-ass ‘regret’…  just as he’d expected, she didn’t let him dwell in his own stupidity at having believed his lies. When he started reproaching himself for his naivete and his inability to see through the deception instead of trusting his guts, she even cut his rant short.

 

“Jus, you have no right to be so hard on yourself. _He_ ’s the liar, not you, so stop that,” she said with a gentle hand on his arm. “ _He_ was stupid enough to be unfaithful, so I say forget about him, and good riddance. He’s not worth your tears.”

 

She gathered him in her arms, though, and he let the bitter tears fall as she rocked him consolingly and whispered low, soothing nonsense in his hair. Because she was the best friend ever, she waited for the flow to recede, and after she’d nursed the gashes left on his palms by the roses’ thorns, she opened a bottle of cheap wine and settled him next to her on the couch, where they spent the rest of the night watching re-runs of _Buffy_ and making lewd comments about Spike’s ass.

 

He was half-hangover and fully sleep-deprived the next morning during his shift. Even drowning in alcohol, his mind had conjured weird dreams about Ethan getting a blow-job as he played a concerto and the entire audience was both leering and making fun of Justin. He’d woken up with a killer headache and the slimy feeling of distorted fingers pointing at him and grotesque faces laughing out loud at his humiliation. The tepid water in Daphne’s shower hadn’t helped any, and he took to his tasks on autopilot.

 

Brian’s remark about his outfit acted like an ice-cold glass of water thrown directly into his face, and woke him up just as efficiently. He hated it, as well as the fact that he wasn’t surprised Brian was the only one who would notice anything amiss with him. He hated that Brian still looked at him enough, still _knew_ him enough to guess immediately that he hadn’t slept at Ethan’s.

 

His comeback was weak. He wasn’t in the mood for their usual game of snarky back and forth. He wanted to wipe the smug grin from Brian’s face, but he felt too open, too vulnerable and raw. Most of all, he felt like an idiot, like a _teenager_ , and he didn’t want to admit it, especially not in front of Brian of all people. Why confirm what the man had always thought, that he was just a stupid, foolish _kid_?

 

He had asked Daphne to go and pick up his stuff from Ethan’s. He didn’t want to ever set foot in his dump, and even less so risk coming face to face with him. When she came back that night, bowing under the weight of his duffel bag and drawing pads, she handed him a note.

 

_“Justin, My Love,”_ it read,

_“What I did was a horrible, stupid mistake. I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but you are the love of my life and my muse…”_ He stopped reading, crumpled the note and threw it to the floor in disgust. He didn’t ever want to hear or read that word ever again.

 

Daphne picked it up and looked at him, sadness mixed with anger in her eyes.

 

“Jus. Read it. It might give you closure.”

 

When he declined with a shake of his head, she started reading it out loud.

 

_“- my muse, and I can’t let you go without telling you how much I love you. You’re my moon, my stars, the sky above my head and the ground beneath my feet. You are my everything, Love, and I’m devastated I hurt you. I promise on everything I hold dear, on my violin, it won’t ever happen again.”_ She scoffed at that, but kept reading.

 

_“Our love is so deep and pure, so perfect and miraculous I became frightened. I felt undeserving, unworthy of it, of you, my sweet Love.”_ ‘Oh, come ooon’, she groaned aggravatedly.  _“But I know now that together, we can take on the world. I will tear the contract apart if you come back to me.”_ ‘Too late for that, moron’, she snickered.  “ _I promise I’ll spend the rest of eternity groveling at your feet for my stupidity, and we will live our love in the open, for all to see and worship. Please, please forgive me, my precious Justin. Eternally yours, your devoted love, Ethan.”_

Silence enveloped them after she stopped, and lasted a few seconds before their eyes met, and they burst into laughter.

 

“Well, that was ridiculous”, she managed between bouts of giggles. “Seriously, did the guy really believe _that_ would work?”

 

“Just be thankful he didn’t write some horrible sonnet about our soul-shattering, for him, sex-life, Daph”, he replied when his chuckles receded, and she rolled on the sofa with laughter.

 

“As if _that_ could compete with what you had with-” She cut herself short and looked at him worriedly. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, it’s true anyways. No one holds a candle to Brian in that specific field,” he replied, suddenly sober. “It was never about _that_.”

 

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” he said sincerely. A sentence Ethan had said rang in his memory. “Did I tell you he actually had the guts to try and excuse his behavior by telling me I was unfair for forgiving Brian’s tricking and not his?”

 

“What an asshole!”, she exclaimed, “Brian never lied to you!”

 

He smiled at her outrage on Brian’s behalf. Her crush on him would never not make him laugh.

 

“That exactly what I told him.”

 

“Good. What a fucker.”

 

That seemed to placate her, and she relaxed in the couch. After a moment of silence, she raised the head she’d laid on his shoulder and looked at him, a devilish smile on her lips.

 

“I knew it. I _knew_ he wasn’t that good in bed. You never had that blissed, fucked-out expression on your face anymore, and you never told me what was going down between the sheets with him.”

 

He laughed at the twinkle in her eyes and her smug face.

 

“That’s because your fascination with my sex life is weird and creepy, Daph.”

 

He winked, and cried in pain when she hit him in the stomach in retaliation. They spent the next minute scuffling on the sofa as he tried to tickle her, and her shrieks of laughter were music ( _good_ music) to his ears. When they calmed down, breath short and limbs tangled, he reflected on what she’d just said.

 

“Okay, I’ll admit he wasn’t that good.”

 

She sat up from her slouch and looked at him expectantly, her interest piqued.

 

“I mean, come on, I like it sweet and slow just as much as the next guy, but not _all the time_! There’s nothing wrong with a quickie or with wanting it rough and hard sometimes, is there?”

 

“Preaching to the choir, Jus,” she replied with a wink and a knowing air, and he shivered. He so didn’t want to imagine her going at it.

 

“I could find a better fuck in Babylon’s backroom any day,” he concluded.

 

She looked at him with a glint in her eyes.

 

“Why don’t you?”

 

“…uh? Why don’t I what?”

 

“Why don’t you go to Babylon and find some guy to take your mind - and _other parts_ of you – off him?” she said excitedly. “A rebound fuck? I’m sure that would help!”

 

He watched her closely. Gone was the sweet, shy, nervous virginal _girl_ he’d known since kindergarten. In her place stood a _woman_ , secure in herself and her sexuality. He laughed.

 

“My, My, Daphne, what happened to you? Who made you such a vixen?” he laughed.

 

“I was introduced to the joys of sex by someone well-versed on the matter, and I ran away with it. Why?” she replied sweetly, teasingly. Thankfully she didn’t dwell on that and continued. “You should do the same.”

 

He thought about it. Why not, after all? It would feel good to reclaim his body for himself. A small voice in his head chimed in with a reminder that it looked like _someone’s_ favorite coping mechanism, but he pushed it down.

 

“You’re probably right,” he finally said, and laughed at her excited “Yeah!!”.

 

***

 

He let her play dress-up with him as he prepared to go out. She picked the tightest pants and t-shirt he owned, and when he looked at her, bemused, she wisely replied, “You’re aiming at maximum efficiency here, and with _that,_ ” she lifted the skin-tight jeans in her hand, “you’ll bring even more boys to the yard.” There was no flaw in her analysis, so he slipped the proffered trousers on. He asked her again to join him.

 

“I have to cram for my biology exam if I ever want to be a doctor, Jus. And I don’t feel like playing the wallflower while you’re getting it on. Don’t tell me you need a wing-woman, I’ve seen how these guys look at you, remember?” she said as she pushed him out the door. “Go get them, Tiger, and don’t be too loud when you come back, I need my beauty sleep!”, she laughed as she closed the door in his face.

 

Despite her reassurance, nerves coursed through his body as he entered the club and realized it was the first time he’d ever gone by himself **.** No Daphne, no gang. No Brian. He felt out of his depth. It was barely 10:30 p.m., and the crowd was thinner than what he was used to. He patted his pocket as he made his way to the bar. Wallet, Daphne’s spare keys, condom, lube, all the essentials. He ordered his usual vodka tonic and gulped it down as soon as he had it in an effort to settle the nervous energy humming in his veins, before signaling the barman for another. This one he nursed in his hand as he watched the dance floor. He could feel a few interested glances as he perused the crowd, but he didn’t make eye contact. Not yet.

 

He sipped his drink as he observed the grinding bodies in front of him, letting the buzz of the alcohol relax his muscles. Some faces were familiar: faithful patrons, guys he’d danced with, tricks he’d had. But no member of his weird ‘family’. _Good_ , he thought. He didn’t feel like explaining himself to any of them.

 

Resolve restored by the vodka, he finished his drink and pushed away from the bar just as a guy was making his way to him through the throng of people. He ignored his crestfallen face and walked to the middle of the dance floor, closed his eyes, and let the beat of the music shake his hips. It wasn’t long before he could feel bodies closing in on him, light touches on his back, on his hips, and he eventually opened his eyes and smiled. He danced a few songs in that fashion, moving from a partner to another, dismissing tentative offers with a shake of his head, grinding his body to other guys for a few measures before moving on to others, letting the exhilaration take away his dark thoughts. He felt powerful, in control, alive as he appraised the men around him. He could have any of them, he knew, and he was the one calling the shots. The ego boost felt heady.

 

He noticed a tall, dark-haired man looking at him from a distance. He was above average, and Justin made eye contact. After a beat or two where Justin shook his hips more languidly, the guy moved closer and put his hand on Justin’s waist. He smiled. His prey was hooked, time to rope him in. He let his body move closer, until their legs were touching and they were grinding against each other, in time with the music. The guy smiled in return and tightened his arm around Justin, accepting the invitation, and they moved together for a few moments, until the friction between their groins produced the expected result. The man ( _Dan_ or something, Justin didn’t hear and didn’t care) closed in on his ear and murmured “I wanna be inside you,” and Justin laughed as he looked at him squarely. “We’ll see about that”, he said, and took the man’s hand to drag him into the backroom.

 

He didn’t even let the trick try to have the upper hand as he pushed him behind a curtain and against a wall. When he leaned in to kiss him, Justin almost recoiled in disgust. He wasn’t there for that, and he made sure the guy understood by turning him around and grinding forcefully against his ass. The trick groaned and slumped against the wall, putting no resistance to the move. Justin didn’t wait to open his pants and push them down as the guy did the same, and he chuckled when he noticed the butt-plug in the trick’s ass. _So much for a power-top_ , he thought. He couldn’t resist toying with it for an instant, and the trick’s moans and pushes back made him giddy. That was pure, unaltered lust and sex, nothing more, nothing less. The simplicity of it was exhilarating. No question, just two people coming together with the same objective: getting off with a willing body. That was it.

 

He eased the toy out of the trick’s ass after he’d sheathed and lubed his cock. No need to go easy, the plug had made all the preparation needed, so he dived in with a long, deep push and didn’t wait for the trick to adjust before moving. A memory entered his mind, ‘In and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit **’** murmured in Brian’s voice, and he did just that, adopting a slow but steady rhythm as he let the pleasure flow his veins and closed his eyes.

 

When he reopened them, it was to Brian’s hazel gaze, as if the man had been summoned by his thought.

 

Justin was proud his eyes and motions didn’t falter. He’d been prepared, and even if he had hoped it wouldn’t happen, he’d known the probabilities of coming across Brian in the backroom. He was weirdly glad to notice such wasn’t the case for his ex-lover. His expression didn’t change, but for someone as well-versed in Kinney-speak as Justin, the tightening of Brian’s mouth and his shifting eyes shouted shock and surprise. Justin didn’t move his gaze from Brian as he kept on driving into the trick’s body. After their short exchange that morning at the diner, here was his chance to show Brian that he wasn’t some silly, romance-addled twat, but a man with his own agenda.

 

He didn’t waver when he saw pleasure wash over Brian’s face as his own trick took him in his mouth, and didn’t let on any obvious reaction. His hips remained strong where they were pumping into the trick, his rhythm unchanged. To anyone looking, he would appear unaffected. He was anything but. If he could make a show of challenging Brian with his eyes and of his coolness at the encounter, he couldn’t lie to himself and pretend he didn’t feel any turmoil at the sight of his ex being pleasured right in front of him, at his beautiful face contorting in bliss. It was a sight he knew too well, and it was hot and searing.

 

Justin wanted him. He always had, always would. It was a fact of life, just like the earth was round and the sky was blue. But more than that, there was a form of perverse pleasure at being so close they could have touched, yet totally separate. Justin found some twisted reward in Brian witnessing him in charge, in a dominant position for once, with guys begging for his cock. He knew his eyes reflected his thoughts, his challenge. _I don’t need you_ , he was saying, _I don’t need anyone._

 

Still, Justin couldn’t quite decipher Brian’s look. If his face did reflect the pleasure he took at having a trick at his feet, his eyes were impenetrable. Their gazes were locked, and there was heat in Brian’s, lust, but not the kind Justin remembered. It was more detached, more distant. Guarded.  A sick, twisted resolve tingled in Justin’s spine and he made his motions more forceful, his pushes deeper, and the moan from the trick reminded him that there was a body (not Ethan’s, not Brian’s) under him.

 

It settled something in him, and he pushed even deeper, even faster, his eyes fixed on Brian’s face until the trick’s body was writhing and he pushed back wantonly, his moans turned louder, ‘there, there, fuck’ echoing in the backroom. Justin could hear a hush pass through the room and eyes settle on him, as sweat rolled down his neck, as he licked his lips unconsciously and shoved his cock even deeper in the willing hole. The guy groaned even louder, cursing, and Justin saw a flicker of a more familiar heat and desire pass in Brian’s eyes. It lit a roaring fire in his veins while an uncomfortable shiver crept up his backbone.

 

The low-humming pleasure he’d felt until that moment turned into an urgent need for release, and he saw the tell-tale sign of Brian’s impending orgasm in the crinkling of his brow, his hooded gaze and his open mouth. Justin let his instincts take over and drove in the heat of the trick’s body, feeling the pleasure coil and tense in his spine, as Brian grabbed his own trick’s head and fucked his mouth relentlessly. Justin’s trick suddenly shouted in ecstasy and the vise-like pressure around his cock increased, until the tension snapped and the sight of Brian coming pushed him over the edge. He closed his eyes as he came, cutting the connection between them as he rode the waves of pleasure.

 

He was neither surprised nor disappointed when he opened them to Brian’s retreating back. He was even relieved. No awkwardness. Besides, what do you say to your ex in such a context? _Good job, pal?_

 

He almost chuckled as he took his time to put his clothes into a semblance of order, and simply shook his head ‘no’ when the trick asked for his number. The guy simply nodded and muttered ‘too bad’ before he left. No big deal, no fuss. Easy.

 

Justin made his way back to the main room and made sure Brian was nowhere around the bar before he ordered a beer. He drank half of it in a couple of gulps to quench his thirst. As he turned he was surprised not to see Emmett anywhere, before he remembered the exchange he’d overheard in the morning. No doubt he was helping Ted cope with the fallout of his conviction.

 

He declined the offer for a second drink by a butch, dirty-blond but accepted a dance with a beautiful Latino. They swayed and spun on the dance floor, their moves matching, and Justin reveled in the simple joy of shaking his body with a good dancer. As he threw his head back to the rhythm, he caught sight of Brian on the catwalk, with a small guy who had his back to him. Probably Michael. Justin shook his head and returned his eyes to his dance partner. He didn’t want to think, he just wanted to have fun, so he did, pushing all thoughts of Brian, Ethan, and the rest out of his mind and smiling widely as he danced. He accepted the guy’s offer of a spin in the backroom, and when he came back some time (and a decent blowjob) later, he simply pushed his way out of the club and didn’t cross paths with anyone he knew.

 

 

***

 

The dreams started that night.

 

That first time, he woke drenched in sweat after a couple of hours, painfully hard and horny at the sleep-tinted memory of hazel eyes boring into his soul. He blamed it on the alcohol and his trips to the backroom before he let slumber take him again. Daphne was gone when he woke up again, and in her stead he found a note on the carton of milk, _“You + me tonight, I want all the details!”_ written in her neat hand script.

 

He managed to remain awake during the most boring lecture ever on Italian Renaissance (only Prof. Jones could make Italian renaissance _that_ boring), and his afternoon shift was quiet enough. He didn’t see any member of the gang, and when he came back to Daphne’s, they chatted over their ramen. He was vague in his recounting of the night before, didn’t mention Brian at all or she would have gone nuts. She on the other hand had hilarious anecdotes about her lab and Justin happily let her lead the conversation. By the time he went to bed, the dream had totally been forgotten.

 

Except it came back. This time the eyes were coupled with full, sensual lips. And the night after that, with a long, enticing neck. And each time Justin woke up frustrated and horny.

 

It took another couple of nights before he made the connection and identified the source of his dream. That morning was the first time since their encounter at Babylon’s that Brian came by the diner for a morning coffee. He only nodded to Justin in salute before he sat down, and Deb took his order. Just as Justin was passing behind the counter, Brian looked up to Deb, the sun striking his eyes just _so,_ and Justin’s mind froze. How he hadn’t recognized them in his dream was beyond him. There was no mistaking their clarity and depth, nor the mix of green and golden that created their unique color.

 

He must have been stuck in the same position too long, or been too obvious in his shock, because suddenly those very eyes shifted to delve into his own, and Brian smirked.

 

“See anything you like, _Sunshine_?”

 

He didn’t reply, just rolled his eyes, hoped his blush wasn’t too obvious and busied himself with the coffee-maker until Brian left.

 

The dream that night was the most sensual, sexual, graphic wet dream he had ever had.

 

 

_He’s at the loft. He has no idea how he knows that. Everything around him is fuzzy, bathed in a clear mist, but he knows. His horizon stops at the edge of the surface he lies on (a bed?). Shapes are blurry, the colors and tones are muted, but he can feel a soft duvet under his back, high-count-thread sheets where his hand rests. Time seems unmoving, and he feels no stress, nor anxiety as he lays there. Then **those** eyes come into focus._

_He distantly notes the faded silhouette as it hovers above him, bathed in a blue halo. He remains paralyzed, still, but not afraid. The eyes are soft as they drink him in, roaming over his body and Justin feels them like a caress, like a trail of fire too that puts his nerves on edge. His own eyes find comfort in the smooth-looking skin and the long, elegant shape of the silhouette, and he tethers his brain to the warmth the sight provokes in him._

_Brian’s face slowly comes into focus._

_A slow, carnal smile appears on his lips, and it makes Justin shivers in anticipation, in lust. He doesn’t know if he’s awake or asleep anymore, he doesn’t care. His mind is fully drowned in Brian’s eyes, and the heat coursing his veins._

_He feels a hand on his stomach, the light drag of fingers on his straining cock, the whisper of lips on his neck as he gives in to the eyes._

_A low voice murmurs unintelligible words in his ear, but he hears the want, the desire, the passion in them; breath on his over-heated skin wrecks him as he bites dream-Brian’s sculpted shoulders, his collarbone, his arm. A deep, low bass echoes in his bones and rattles his soul at the push inside and a tight, warm heat envelops him._

_He can feel Brian’s cock splitting his very being in half, feel his heated, soft skin where it moves under his fingers, smell his masculine scent and hear his sighs. Yet he can also **see** the scene unfolding under his eyes, their bodies locked and writhing on the bed, on the floor, on the armchair, their muscles tensed as they move, their faces pictures of passion and bliss as their mouths gasp on silent moans._

 

He woke abruptly, body covered in sweat and come and he groaned. A wet dream, really? He hadn’t had those since he was fourteen and had realized guiltily that unlike his friends, it wasn’t Buffy but Angel that haunted his dreams. Still, he felt as if his brain had compiled the memories of his hottest scenes with Brian, tied them together in the most obscene medley and projected them on the screen of his closed eyelids. He could still feel the slight tremors wrecking his body, the residual effect of the earth-shattering orgasm in his dream. Thank God he hadn’t awakened Daphne; she would have had a field day and ten years of blackmail with his lack of control. As if he could decide what his unconscious mind came up with.

 

As he padded silently to the tiny bathroom to clean the dry come off his skin, he tried to make sense of the dream. Dreams, plural. Psychology 101 would interpret it simply: the break-up with Ethan, followed quickly by the meeting with Brian in the backroom had triggered his memory.  Added to the fact that for the first time in two-plus years he hadn’t been having sex several times a day for the past five days, and his mind had conjured its very own porn movie. _Great_ , he thought, _just what I needed_.

 

He went back to the futon and laid down, trying to clear his mind. But he still felt the dream on his skin, in his veins, the soft touches, the searing heat, the sweet release. He groaned again as he buried his head under the pillow and fisted his stiff cock, bringing himself to the edge and over in a few fast motions to the memory of Brian’s cock in his ass.

 

As his heartbeat eventually came down, he decided to do everything in his power to avoid the man at all cost for the near future. No need to add fuel to the fire. Things would go back to normal soon enough.

 

***

 

They didn’t. Actually, they did, Justin had just forgotten what _normal_ was to him.  For the main part of the past two years, a large chunk of his daily – and nightly thoughts had been wired on someone else, on another man. And apparently his mind didn’t know how to cope without.

 

He moved his shifts around to make sure he wasn’t anywhere near the diner when Brian could be. Meaning he usually worked the afternoon or nights. He avoided Ethan’s favorite street corner and PIFA’s music building like the plague. He buried himself in his classes --though he had to move some of those around, too – and school work. As for the rest of the time, he couldn’t go out and find release in a willing body, either, the probability of crossing Brian’s path too high, so he spent as much of it as he could between the four walls of Daphne’s tiny apartment and dealt with his frustrated mind and body the old-fashioned way. Thank all deities his right hand was better and he was ambidextrous for these kinds of activities, or he would have gone seriously unhinged.

 

He didn’t see Daphne as much as he would have liked. Pre-med made for a huge workload, and he didn’t really feel like joining her for parties with her new friends the few times he wasn’t working. He started working on Rage again, but he wasn’t too comfortable yet in his contacts with Michael. He saw less of Debbie than usual, and usually it was to hear her rile against Stockwell.

 

It took him more than a week before he called his mother to tell her the news. He didn’t want her to find out when she came by Ethan’s place unannounced, as she sometimes did, and find him moved out. As he’d predicted, she was sorry and compassionate, and she proposed he come live with her and Molly. Thankfully he had the excuse of Daphne’s decision that he remained with her (not that he had protested) to decline.

 

When his mother asked what happened, he hesitated. He had felt his mother’s relief when he had introduced her to Ethan, and he knew for certain she had considered their relationship more appropriate than whatever he had with Brian, but he wasn’t sure she was too fond of the musician. She had seemed exasperated at times, hearing him relate Ethan’s latest news during their weekly phone call.

 

She had never asked why he’d left Brian, and he had never volunteered the information. She had been a victim of cheating herself, and he didn’t want to see the phantom hurt and the disappointment in her eyes at discovering Justin’s faithlessness.

 

Yet, he was the scorned party this time, so even if it was unfair, he told her about Ethan’s straying.

 

“Oh, that’s rich! Wasn’t _he_ the one afraid you’d leave him for Brian? Hypocritical prick,” she replied venomously. “Don’t waste your time on him, Honey. Once a cheater, always a cheater, believe me.”

 

He didn’t know whether it was his conversation with his mom, or when he received a bouquet of flowers from Ethan the next day and didn’t feel anything but indifference, but Justin was shocked to realize he didn’t feel that sad. His pride had been hurt, for sure. Yet, his heart wasn’t broken. Not like it had been before.

 

In hindsight, he was almost sure he hadn’t been in love. There were signs, even if he only had one reference point to know what the feeling meant. When he had fallen in love with Brian, he would have shouted it from the rooftops. Yet he had never told Brian he was in love with Ethan. At first, he had thought it was simply because the man would have scoffed at the word. But he hadn’t said it to his mother, either, nor to the gang. He’d vaguely referenced it with Daph, but he’d never stated it like an evidence, like it was supposed to be.

 

Sure, he had said the words to Ethan himself, but were they more than words? He wasn’t sure anymore he had felt them. He loved the attention, the small gifts, the lavish words, the romance of his time with the musician. But he realized there weren’t many – if any – things he missed about the man himself.

 

He was self-centric, for one. He barely listened when Justin talked about his day, but could go on for hours about his own. He was messy, even worse than Justin was. He was a snob, and it was never more apparent that when they were out. It should have been a major red flag, that he became such a different person when surrounded by an audience. Everyone puts on a slightly more guarded figure when in public, but Ethan changed drastically.

Gone were the sullen pouts and demanding behaviors he reserved for Justin when his peddling hadn’t been met with sufficient applause, and on was the haughty, pretentious artist persona dishing crap on this or that teacher or school peer. (Not that his ‘friends’ were better, Justin had overheard enough unflattering words about Ethan muttered behind his back during the boring ‘soirées’ the musician had dragged him to. Not that he had been so cruel to repeat them, but their school was a tank of sharks.)

 

And there were aspects of his personality that had bothered him from the start. Small things, really, but added on to one another now that he could see the full picture, they spoke volumes.

 

When he’d started sneezing a few days after he’d started living in Ethan’s apartment, the man had wanted to play nurse and cook a ‘secret’ homemade dish. He’d been so proud when he’d presented it to Justin, only to be pissed when the blond had noticed there were olives in it and informed him of his allergies. They’d cooked something else, but Ethan had made a show of moaning about his wasted effort and how he loved Justin so much he was ready to sacrifice his culinary creation. When he’d found out it was the cat’s hair that made his nose and eyes itch, Justin had been the one vacuuming everyday ~~.~~ And Justin had been the one to pick up medication, as Ethan was always too busy rehearsing his latest piece. When it was his turn to do the groceries, Ethan always brought back a cheap rose, but also systematically ‘forgot’ Justin’s favorite cereals or the fact that his vanilla soap provoked a rash on Justin’s sensitive skin.  He was charming in front of Daphne, but always managed to convince him to stay in and cuddle instead of accepting any of her invitations. He was the perfect gentleman the couple of times they met with Justin’s mother, but always made sure to underline their lack of money and rough living conditions. And he couldn’t get it in his head that Justin could not bear to be touched when he woke up from one of his (thankfully rare now) nightmares, and his hovering grated on Justin’s nerves.

 

Justin had never told him exactly what he knew about his bashing. Ethan had found out by himself when he’d seen the scar on his temple, witnessed the tremors in his hand, and he’d connected the dots with the articles he’d read at the time. He’d asked, of course, insistently, but Justin had simply said he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t mentioned Brian had saved his life, nor the fallout. Same as he had never told Ethan who paid his tuition, nor the origins of the computer, because he knew Ethan would have thrown a hissy fit and he would never have heard the end of it.

 

All of this was between Brian and himself, and would remain so. That was how they operated, and why Justin hadn’t even thought twice about helping fold the ridiculous child-molesting accusation. Another thing he’d never told Ethan.

 

At one point, he had to be honest with himself, and realize that he had been more in love with the idea of love than with the man he was with. _Fuck._

 

 

***

 

He fell into a miserable vortex of self-examination [1]. He spent the next weeks in a daze of work, school, plagued every day by thoughts of Ethan and his own illusions about love, and every night by dreams of Brian. He barely saw the man, and when they did cross paths, they only acknowledged one another with a nod.

 

Only once, ten days after their last encounter, did they have to be in each other’s presence for more than a second. Justin had been called in to replace Kiki for a morning shift, and he hadn’t been able to weasel out of serving the group at their usual table.

 

“Justin, sweetie, it’s been ages!! How have you been?” Emmett had exclaimed, a wide, happy grin on his face.

 

Justin had kept his eyes focused on him as he’d served his coffee and donut.

 

“Busy with school, Em. I had to change my shifts, that’s why I’m not around much.”

 

He’d retreated before Emmett could ask him about Ethan, and had made sure to busy himself with the other tables, but he’d felt Brian’s eyes on him the entire time.

 

 

During his time with Ethan, he had tried to avoid comparison between him and Brian. He had had flashes, often, but he had pushed them forcefully out of his mind. He had made a choice, after all, and he had been determined to stick to it. Now that they had split, though, and with the dreams haunting every single one of his nights, all the thoughts he’d stifled came back with a vengeance. The differences were glaring and it was an understatement to say they were definitively _not_ in Ethan’s favor.

 

He’d known pretty much from the start that there was more to him and Brian than sex. It was an important part of their dynamic, and the most obvious, but it wasn’t the alpha and omega of what they had been. Brian had been present for him at the worst moments of his life. When his father had rejected him, when he’d been bashed, when his future had been on the line.

 

And not only for him, for everyone. For Michael, for Deb. For Lindsay and Mel. He’d even stepped out of his way to help Ted, of all people. He hadn’t quite understood the conversation he’d overheard at the diner, but when Justin had asked, Debbie had confirmed Brian was the one who’d interceded with Stockwell on Ted’s behalf.

 

What was it Debbie had said? “I’ll never understand why he does that.”

Neither could Justin.

But he knew he couldn’t avoid him eternally, and if he had any hope at a friendship with him, or even a civil relationship, he had to try to decipher him.

 

The problem was, he could hardly reconcile the man who had kicked him out over an honest mistake with the loft’s alarm with the one who’d taken a kid, a stranger under his wing when he’d been thrown out of his home. Where was the real Brian between the man who had planned an entire week with him (in a luxury room with a jacuzzi, no less) and the one who had let him drop at the last minute and hadn’t even called?

 

Most of all, where was the truth in what Brian had felt for him, if anything? In the harsh, cold words, or the warm, careful arms and passionate kisses? Where was it? In the man who never lied, who never broke a promise, or the one who never said what was really on his heart?

 

As the time passed and he examined the situation, he realized how unfair he had been. He was just like the rest of them, asking for Brian’s support and presence but falling in the trap of his nonchalance about it. Like Mikey, always expecting Brian to be there but also the first to judge his way of life. Or Mel, happy to accept Brian’s parental rights and his money to take care of Gus, while looking down haughtily on his ‘decadent’ behavior.

 

Justin wondered when he’d stopped being able to read Brian, to see beyond the mask. When he had stopped listening. But he knew the answer. Everything came back to the bashing. They’d never talked about the Prom after Justin had recovered that flash at Gus’s birthday. Justin knew Brian had been traumatized, too, he hadn’t been able to hide that. But as much as Justin hated to discuss the events he couldn’t remember, they should have addressed them, and how they’d affected them both. Maybe then he wouldn’t have taken Michael’s words that Brian had taken him out of pity for undisputable truth.

 

He had to question that, too. He could not compute Brian not showing up at the hospital, but wearing a blood-stained scarf for two whole months. And how to explain how much Brian had known about his physical therapy, his treatments, his needs? It was probably because his mother had passed on the information to Brian, but in any case, it meant that Brian had been more involved in the recovery process than through simple pity. And he had been at the hearing, according to Jennifer. Would he have gone if he had been so indifferent to Justin’s fate?

 

Justin was frustrated and angry, and couldn’t seem to find an answer.

He was well aware also of his own faults and responsibilities in what had happened. He was the one who had broken all the rules. To his knowledge, Brian had stayed true to his word. And if what Justin had witnessed at Babylon was in anyway meaningful, he still didn’t kiss anyone on the mouth (except Michael, of course, but him being the exception had been implicit in the agreement anyways).

Justin, on the other hand, had been unfaithful, and he couldn’t quite wrap his head around his own hypocrisy.

 

He had been so jealous of Brian’s tricking. Not at the beginning. It had been part of Brian’s myth, of his charm, and it was exciting. But after the bashing… he’d thought they had moved on from that. That when Brian had welcomed him back into his life, into his home, it meant more than that.  For a time, it had felt true, or so he had wanted to believe. But his frustration at his gimp hand, his feeling of inadequacy and the ever-present fear… he had felt off-balance, uncertain. Needy. Brian’s tricking on top of that had only added to the pressure.

 

Brian had only been Brian, when Justin had wanted him to keep being his savior. He was only Brian, when Justin wanted him to become someone else entirely. And when he hadn’t delivered, Justin had turned on him.

 

 

 

***

 

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he knew he was still in love with Brian, and had never ceased to be.  Nor when he realized Brian had loved him, and probably still did.

 

Was it when they met in Babylon that first night, and they fucked each other by proxy of the tricks? When he caught a glimpse of Brian in the streets a few days later and he felt a pang of longing in his chest? Or was it the second Ethan brought him into the conversation and he had the epiphany that he hadn’t needed to forgive Brian, when there was nothing to forgive in the first place?

Was it even earlier than that, when he’d knotted the bracelet back on Brian’s wrist and he’d looked up into his soulful eyes and almost dived right back in dangerous waters, only to have Brian gently remind him of Ethan’s existence? Or was it every single time he’d ‘made love’ with Ethan, or cuddled on the sofa, and his (too small, too thin) body hadn’t felt quite right, hadn’t quite _fit_?

 

He didn’t know for sure, but what he knew instinctively was that he needed to make his peace with the whole situation and be clear with himself.

 

Could he forget, or at least put aside the pain he’d felt, how they had hurt each other? Could he forget Brian’s harsh words, his eyes as he’d dismissed Justin as a ‘piece of blond boy ass’, and the length he had gone to only to prove Ethan was just as selfish as everyone and would choose his career over Justin?

He had been right, of course he had. But that confrontation over Ethan’s choice of signing still smarted. Brian’s words had hurt like a bitch, same as the realization that once again, he wasn’t enough. But that was the point, wasn’t it. To show him that he _wasn’t supposed_ to be enough. It sure felt like a textbook Brian Kinney Life Lesson™.

 

Actually, there was something to forgive. Could he ever forgive Brian for pushing him away, and rubbing it in his face that leaving him wasn’t worth it, that it was a mistake?

If that was Brian’s way of expressing he cared, could he ever accept that, and be content with such a wicked, twisted show of love? Admitting that it even was that, and not some nasty, petty revenge at having been dumped.

 

No. Brian wouldn’t have kept paying his tuition if it was about getting a comeback.  He wouldn’t have asked for Justin’s help with the flyer. Lindsay wouldn’t have dropped innuendos regarding how tired and sad Brian looked during her call, when she had informed him of her new job at the gallery and announced Mel's pregnancy.  Plus, there was an event that just didn’t fit in with everything he knew about Brian. When he’d heard Michael shout-whisper his name at the girls’ anniversary, he’d known, deep down, that he was at the center of Brian and Michael’s fight, and he’d had to rein in his instincts to go to Brian and ask for an explanation. Seriously, how had no one even questioned why Brian, the guy who hadn’t even raised a hand to protect himself from Justin’s father, would suddenly throw a punch to his best friend? Justin knew in his guts it meant something.

 

 

 

***

 

It was a frustrating month for Justin, trying to see a path forward amidst his scattering thoughts. It eventually came to an end when Daphne elected to skip a party in order to stay home with him and he was _finally_ able to open up to his best friend.

 

It felt good to chat with her and air his thoughts. She was the best sounding board ever, even if her obvious bias toward Brian made her less than objective. He had to smile when she didn’t even let him explain his reasons and launched into an elaborate plan to bring them back together. But then again, she had been their best cheerleader from the start.

 

The more he talked with her, though, the more he was sure he wasn’t done with Brian Kinney. She, in turn, was certain Brian felt the same, even if that was probably wishful thinking. In any case, she convinced him it was worth trying, and he didn’t need much convincing at all.

 

To be fair, her plan was genius. It killed (hopefully) two birds with one stone. He did have an internship to cross off his educational course at PIFA, and he had thought about Vangard when he’d heard about their intern program, but he would never have asked Brian for a favor. In any case, he was proud when he received his acceptance letter a few days after he had applied, signed by the agency’s Art Department.

 

_Game on_ , he thought, and Daphne cheered.

 

There was something both disconcerting and heady at seeing Brian in his professional setting, at witnessing the magic happen live and seeing Brian in the midst of it, in charge. He hadn’t had any doubt about Brian’s skills and genius, but getting to see him in action or through his team’s eyes, reading the respect and admiration (and a healthy dose of fear) there was something different and new. As he observed him interacting with the execs and artists in the department, moving effortlessly between the accounts and guiding his team gently but steadily through his vision, steering them in the direction he wanted to take, Justin felt he could finally _see_ him, in all his layers and strata, as if the final piece of his mental Brian Kinney puzzle had finally clicked into place. And the resulting image was even more beautiful and appealing than before.

 

He felt like he was seventeen again, gushing to Daphne about Brian’s endless talents and deeds, and having her cheering him on in his quest to ‘get his man’.

 

Except he wasn’t a seventeen-year-old virgin anymore. This time, his eyes were wide open and he was lucid. He knew exactly what he wanted and what to expect in return. He wasn’t a lovesick teenager anymore. He had gone out, he’d seen for himself what life had to offer, and the bruises he’d received for it had only strengthened him. He wasn’t going back to Brian out of fear or by lack of other option. He was going back to him because he was by far the best option.    

 

 

 

Epilogue:

 

If any doubt lingered in his mind about Brian’s bruised feelings at his betrayal, they started disappearing when the man held him back in the display room and they finally _talked_. The kiss had been an impulse, a necessary answer to Brian’s challenge, and a clear way to state his intent. It had been hell to cut it short.

 

The doubts evaporated the second Brian mentioned violin music as a part of their new truce.

So much so that Justin almost guffawed at Brian’s obvious, in-your-face tricking. His lover needed to make his point, to drive it home, he got that. Yet _he_ was still the one Brian came back to, so he would accept it as part of the deal.

 

Any remaining question or negative thought didn’t stand a chance when Brian started helping him with the campaign against Stockwell. If anything, it made one thing clear: if anyone was ready to put his career in jeopardy for Justin’s hot, blond ass, it was Brian.  

 

 

[1]Not my words, Neil Patrick Harris’s in an interview with the Off Camera Show. I borrowed them as they fit perfectly with the mood I was trying to set for this fic.

 

**Author's Note:**

> https://youtu.be/glh7ZqeGh6g
> 
> In your room  
> Where time stands still/ Or moves at your will  
> Will you let the morning come soon/ Or will you leave me lying here  
> In your favourite darkness/ Your favourite half-light  
> Your favourite consciousness/ Your favourite slave 
> 
> In your room  
> Where souls disappear/ Only you exist here  
> Will you lead me to your armchair/ Or leave me lying here  
> Your favourite innocence/ Your favourite prize  
> Your favourite smile/ Your favourite slave 
> 
> I'm hanging on your words  
> Living on your breath  
> Feeling with your skin  
> Will I always be here 
> 
> In your room  
> Your burning eyes/ Cause flames to arise  
> Will you let the fire die down soon/ Or will I always be here  
> Your favourite passion/ Your favourite game  
> Your favourite mirror/ Your favourite slave 
> 
> I'm hanging on your words  
> Living on your breath  
> Feeling with your skin  
> Will I always be here


End file.
